


Erebus

by daddykeehl



Series: The Makings Of A God [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: A look into the minds of the party, Bloodborne but it's Critical Role, Caleb Widogast Has Issues, God!Mollymauk, M/M, Mama Nott, Molly loves Caleb but a bit too much, but that's a mouthful, god AU, or more like Physical Embodiment Of The Void!Molly, protective Molly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 03:12:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16380320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daddykeehl/pseuds/daddykeehl
Summary: Molly isn't who he says he is, and everyone figures that out a bit too late to do anything about it.





	Erebus

**Author's Note:**

> When you take a throwaway but iconic quote and turn it into a mess of a story

F j o r d

There was something not quite right about Mollymauk.

Fjord could feel it in the air, on his tongue when he spoke, in his lungs when he breathed, as if the very air stirred with unease and something dreadfully familiar.

Even when Molly danced and slashed and seemed to simply disappear into the shadows, he just wasn't quite sure what it was, not until the water in his lungs, the nightmares, the heavy feeling of thousands of eyes upon him.

Molly wasn't what he appeared to be, wasn't what he said he was. He was something older than a mere tiefling, something primordial in nature, and every one of them slept with their backs to him peacefully, as if whatever he was, he wouldn't kill them in seconds.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, lit only by the ever watchful moon and the dying embers of the fire, he thought about packing them up and leaving behind this unknown creature, but he couldn't, wouldn't, do it. He'd ruminate and ponder and then in the morning he'd feel as if Molly knew of every thought that had ran through his mind and he'd stop thinking, then, for a long while.

Because the truth? The truth was that he was afraid. And fear was perhaps Mollymauk's most powerful tool.

~°~

J e s t e r

She's never mentioned it to anyone. She's not quite sure she's supposed to, because sometimes Molly is scary and it doesn't seem much like a thing an unhappy, scary Molly would appreciate very much, so she says nothing.

Molly doesn't bleed.

When bandits hack and slash and catch him in his wild, reckless dance, he'll wince and wounds will appear just as they must, as the world dictates, but never do they remain, scars left behind and his healing propped up to her magnificent skills, or even the Traveler at times when it couldn't have possibly been her, the others easily dismissing it because the alternative...well that's just silly thinking.

Sometimes she thinks Fjord notices the not-quite-rightness of it all, the way he seems almost ready for battle when Molly gets a little too tense, a little too serious, but even Yasha can't quite get that reaction. And why should she? She's their friend, she's Yasha.

Sometimes, in the quieter moments, she wonders if Molly is really Molly, and if not, what lurks behind that mask?

What exactly have they so happily brought into their group?

~°~

N o t t

People underestimate Nott because she's small, or because she's a goblin, or because she's a girl, but usually it's a combination of all three. It let's her get away with things, and let's her see things the tall races don't.

She sees that Jester gets a little too quiet sometimes when she stares at Molly, that Fjord always expects a battle with him. She sees that Beau notices none of this, and Yasha knows more than she lets on.

She sees that sometimes people who hurt or try to hurt Caleb die in agony in the midst of battle when no one will notice from the very shadows they themselves cast, and that always Molly watches him.

Molly isn't Molly, not really, but she won't say anything about it, because how can she, when they both have the same goal?

Even a goblin needs an ally sometimes.

~°~

B e a u

Beau is a simple woman.

She isn't want for too much, give her a good fight and a pretty girl and she'll be satisfied for a good while.

But that isn't to say she's stupid. Just a little slower on the uptake.

She doesn't notice until nearly everyone else has, not until they're caught in an ambush, cleverly crafted but not cleverly enough because she's awoken by some ungodly screeching a minute before the bandits get the jump on their prone forms.

Whatever it is that woke her can be left alone till the battle is over, she thinks, and charges into the fray, only somewhat bleary eyed from sleep.

By the end of it, her arms are tired, her lungs hurt, and the adrenaline threatens to leave her veins soon, but one of them breaks off from his dying comrades and crashes into the darkness of the forest. Molly follows, and Beau does too when no one else seems to be in shape to do so.

The thorny brambles and thick underbrush hinder her process, it's a wonder the other two made it past so quickly, but ahead, she sees a bit of a clearing, and her footsteps are silent on the soft, soggy grass beneath her bare feet.

She's there, watching, then, just in time, to see Molly slam his foot onto the pleading man's spine with a crack, reach a single hand down, and sink it into his chest, pulling out the one organ keeping him truly alive. There's a single, wet noise as he does, and then it's quiet, save for her panicked breathing. Molly does not seem to be moving at all, not even his chest, still and silent as the dead.

His eyes glance up at her, he smiles, and the shadows around her clasp over her mouth just as she tries to scream.

They return to camp just a little while later.

Beau says nothing.

~°~

Y a s h a

She's there, of course, to see or be told of her companions finding out that Molly isn't as he seems.

It upsets her that they don't take too kindly to it (aside from Nott), but perhaps it's a bit much to expect from them, even Fjord. Maybe especially Fjord.

Molly had told her soon after they truly began to trust one another, but it wasn't as if she hadn't suspected it, anyway. He was not so subtle then, when his champion was not on the line, when his very existence could not be snuffed out no matter how many times one stabbed him. He had not cared, but she'd taught him. He taught her, too, many things about being quiet and whatever else the group he had before taught. So it was not her secret to tell, not her situation to deal with, no matter how bitter it made her with him.

She wonders, sometimes, with her hands in his hair and the knowledge that very few had such a privilege, why he doesn't take Caleb and Nott and run, settle back down, rebuild his roots. Paranoia? Fear? Acceptance that this might be Caleb's preferred arrangement?

Whatever it was, she had a sinking feeling that it was not permanent.

~°~

M o l l y

There's something to be said about mortals and their quick, strange minds. He can take decades to ponder one question enough before he's satisfied, lazily watching the world go by, content to leave his slumber only when his dearest followers offer what they can to him in repayment for his services.

But even something as old as him gets tired of it all, a bit. The monotony. Kingdoms rise, kings fall, people love and hate and die and live and it repeats until his being feels perhaps what a headache might be like. Shadows are never boring, they lurk in everything, everywhere, but there's only so much he can take before he goes a little stir crazy.

Caleb had been a bit of a strange idea, an idle fantasy. But then he'd become a reality, and wasn't there a saying about one being sweeter than the other?

A champion of his own, to preach of his existence and to never leave his side, something new?

Now that, that was interesting.

But then it'd all gone bottoms up, and he'd shoved what he could of himself into a body that suited his taste just fine, hunted down his disciple, and kept quiet because…

Well.

That was the question, wasn't it?

Amusement? Boredom? To try to experience a mortal life?

Caleb had...changed. After their parting.

It had hurt like a physical wound, and he'd raged so hard in his grief that for awhile he thought he might wake the favoured Gods themselves from their never ending watch. Not that it'd matter. You couldn't fight the nothing, the void itself. You could only accept the inevitable, and be swallowed whole by the darkness.

He couldn't do that in a limiting form, but it was much easier to communicate with his favorite in such a way that wouldn't possibly drive him insane as his language tended to do.

It's because of this that he notices the fear of fire, the searching in the dark and the subtle disappointment when nothing changed. That was one downside, certainly. A happy Caleb was a happy eldritch entity from before creation itself.

But Caleb wasn't happy, anymore. He was sad, always sad and lonely and desperate for a being he couldn't realize was there the entire time.

Perhaps, he thought, watching the darkness he dwelled in settle over a sleeping Caleb like an old friend, he'd just have to fix that.

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of like a look into their characters so I'm sorry if it's super strange? I'm hoping to be done with the actual Main Content soon. Enjoy a sneak peek, tell me your thoughts.


End file.
